


storm clouds, sweet fumes

by hibouxx



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Linear Narrative, Office Setting, Power Imbalance, Sexual Tension, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Workplace Relationship, brief mention of Yuta/OC, implications of cougar chasing, jungwoo is unpredictable, portrayals of questionable integrity, yuta has a lot of insecurities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hibouxx/pseuds/hibouxx
Summary: He hooks his arms around Jungwoo’s shoulders and his fingers graze a scab on the base of his neck, an impression of Yuta’s teeth printed in blood.orJungwoo is the newest transferee from Seoul and he brings Yuta nothing but trouble
Relationships: Kim Jungwoo/Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 19
Kudos: 73





	storm clouds, sweet fumes

**Author's Note:**

> >the characters in this fic has questionable morals so you can guess that this isn't your usual wooing and romancing  
> >tw include: big age gap, workplace relationship, unhealthy relationship, power tripping

Kim Jungwoo waltzes into Yuta’s life like a cold breeze that leaves his skin prickling with fitfulness.

It’s ten minutes to eight when the sales manager cuts through the early morning calm that precedes every hectic day with the boy in tow. He’s tall, like a pole, body straight and hair bouncing with his steps. 

“This is Kim Jungwoo. He’ll be joining the team from today onwards.”

They all know about the transferee from Seoul, and about the upcoming management transition following the acquisition of the Osaka office, but no one has expected him to be this young, or beguiling, especially when he flashes his brightest smile and bends down to his waist with a softly muttered, “Please take care of me.”

Yuta doesn’t realise he’s staring until the boy catches his gaze, unfazed. He looks away, but it’s too late because a tall figure looms over his desk a few moments later.

“Nakamoto, why don’t you show him around?”

The transferee’s eyes are glinting with barely concealed mischief and Yuta realises he shouldn’t discount the possibility that him being singled out for the task wasn’t entirely by chance, especially when Kim Jungwoo doesn't bother to hide the melodious ‘thank you’ he mumbles in perfect Tokyo accent to the manager.

—

“I like your tie.” is the first thing Jungwoo says to him after the insultingly obvious once over he gives Yuta as soon as they enter the copy room.

Yuta looks down at his tie with a deadpan expression, “It’s the same as everyone else’s.” 

An airy laugh bursts from Jungwoo’s lips and Yuta isn’t sure if the earlier statement was supposed to be a jab that flew completely over his head, “Sorry, what I meant was that it looks good _on you_.”

Jungwoo’s Japanese is amazingly smooth, especially when he’s trying to overcompensate for his lack of tact. Yuta doesn’t like the straightforwardness but he’s not the confrontational type so he lets the comment slide.

Jungwoo must notice the way he shifts on his feet because he coughs into his hand twitchily, “Did I make you uncomfortable? Sorry.”

“I’m probably ten years your senior. You can’t make me uncomfortable.” He says back flatly, not completely sure what he’s trying to prove.

When the younger man looks back up his smile is steadfast across his youthful face, nonchalant despite Yuta’s incredulous tone. “That’s right, Nakamoto-san, you can be at ease with me.”

He pretends not to see the grin Jungwoo hides behind his hand under the guise of rubbing his nose or the hauntingly charming smile he gives another colleague who marches in with a stack of files.

—

Youth and pleasantries work incredibly in Jungwoo’s favour. He’s naturally likeable, with his brand of innocence and his surprising efficiency at work. He’s not as experienced as some of the seasoned members of the team, but he’s just as capable if not more. 

“I heard that’s why they chose to send him here, other than his near perfect Japanese.” Takuya tells him after Jungwoo leaves for the boardroom following a call from the Seoul office.

“Or he has connections.” Yuta retorts even though he knows there’s not much truth to that. Jungwoo is a high achiever, who only happens to be better than Yuta at what he does. Jungwoo made sure to rub that in his face when he’d taken over two of Yuta’s clients with the intention to wrap everything up within the ideal timeframe, and which he effortlessly pulls off without Yuta’s intervention.

Yuta isn’t alone in that sentiment; Jungwoo’s skills draw as much ire as it does praises, so he doesn’t bother hiding his disdain, not even to Jungwoo.

The boy is also quick on the catch up, among all things he’s good at. That’s how he catches Yuta off guard during his smoke break, nursing his own unlit stick of cigarette between his fingers.

“You don’t like me much, do you?” The burn of nicotine in his lungs doesn’t distract him from the broad planes of Jungwoo’s physique, fully showcased without his suit jacket. He looks taller somehow, even with the added height Yuta’s dress shoes provide.

“Where did you get that idea?” He bites back sarcastically. 

Jungwoo has been a little too forthcoming with his efforts to show Yuta how expandable he is in the grand scheme of things, in just the few months he’s been with the team. There’s no reason to think the boy isn’t aware of his own meddling, especially when his eyes follow Yuta like he’s stalking a prey.

“I’m not trying to outperform you or anything like that.”

Yuta turns narrowed eyes at him, “You’re surely doing a good job of it.”

Jungwoo wordlessly extends his hand, palm up. Yuta hands him his lighter without letting his touch linger.

“Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?”

“What are you trying to do Kim Jungwoo?”

“I like you, Nakamoto-san.” Yuta sighs around the cigarette. He’s seen that coming but the certainty he observes in Jungwoo’s steady fingers as he flicks the lighter on unhinges him for the briefest second.

So he laughs with his whole chest.

—

“Eight years.” Yuta pulls his arm out of Jungwoo’s hold before anyone else notices the unusual proximity. The bar is crowded and dimly lit but there’s enough sober eyes present that he can’t risk slipping. Not with Jungwoo.

“What?”

“You’re only eight years older than me.” He scoffs at the new information without real amusement. Jungwoo looks like a hot mess, with his striped shirt stained with tonkatsu sauce and his hair missing its usual lustre. He has the audacity to leave his top two buttons undone, shamelessly hiding a new hickey in plain sight.

“And? Is that supposed to mean something?”

“That means you can stop treating me like I’m inferior to you.” 

Drunk Jungwoo isn’t all too different from normal Jungwoo with the way he seamlessly slips into the role of a soft-spoken, well-bred city boy with a shy demeanour in front of a passing colleague who checks on them after Jungwoo rattles their side of the table trying to keep Yuta close.

Yuta wants to tousle his hair like some child, aggravate him further until he’s forced to drop the act, but instead he turns away and pretends to be too drunk to understand what’s going on.

“Nakamoto-san.” Jungwoo tugs on his elbow when they’re out of earshot once again. Yuta doesn’t resist this time, but he’s burning inside and it has nothing to do with the alcohol. 

“I know you hate me,” The boy repeats and he’s gotten so close that Yuta can feel his breath bouncing off his cheek, “But I also know that you wanna fuck me.”

The worst thing about Jungwoo other than his propensity for overplaying his cards, is that his fingers are specifically designed to press all of Yuta’s buttons.

—

The acquisition is announced sometime in October, right after Yuta’s 36th birthday. The news isn’t monumental, until the repercussions of the management restructuring takes form through pay cuts, benefits review and more overtime work, then comes the final straw: a 28 year old boy with a Tokyo accent and a highly impressive CV, a beautifully structured face and a sweet tongue that can charm everyone within a mile radius.

So Yuta allows himself to resent Jungwoo’s appointment at their Osaka headquarters and tries to justify it by the very real threat of losing his position to someone so young and not nearly as experienced.

“You don’t have to follow me around.” He tells Jungwoo on his third week on the job, and the fifth time he’s volunteered to eat lunch with Yuta even though he should already know by now that everyone eats their lunch at their desk in solitary silence.

“I have to buy my lunch anyway. You’re getting coffee right?” 

Yuta shrugs and turns away. Jungwoo has that infuriatingly fake smile on even as he bounds next to Yuta, matching his quick strides, “You should pack your food, eating yakisoba bread everyday can’t be healthy.”

Jungwoo grins like he’s won something, “I didn’t realise you kept tabs on me.”

“You reek of fried food.” His tone takes on a bit of sharpness but Jungwoo doesn’t look any less inspired when he overtakes Yuta at the counter, ordering his food _and_ Yuta’s coffee and paying for both.

He hands him his drink: a medium sized americano, and makes sure to bump their fingers in the process.

“I was just thinking you’d like me more if I buy you coffee.”

Yuta takes a careful sip of his americano and tries his best not to wince when it scalds the flat of his tongue, “Highly unlikely.”

—

The relative calm and the stern lines bleed away after four glasses of beer. Yuta knows there’s no reason for him to not have turned down the invitation but he’s curious, and curiosity often leads to bad places.

Jungwoo presses his fingers into his sides and Yuta recoils with a yelp. He’s ticklish there, but Jungwoo doesn’t need to know that, and he doesn’t seem to care as he buries his face in Yuta’s neck. 

The business hotel isn’t the one he usually checks into but it’s cheap and far enough away from the office for any semblance of security. Jungwoo is equally tipsy, but he has surprisingly deft fingers because Yuta loses his jacket and shirt in a few short seconds.

The younger man snorts unattractively when Yuta pulls away just as he begins to tug on his belt, “Turn the lights off.” Yuta says with a slight slur. Jungwoo does as asked and comes back to the narrow bed. The sheets are stiff and scratchy but they don’t register over the sound of Jungwoo’s moans when Yuta sucks on the thin skin above his collarbones.

“Don’t tell anyone.” He reminds again before Jungwoo moves between his legs.

“I won’t.”

—

Takuya hands him a chapstick during smoke break, pointing at his own lips, “You look like you’ve gone to hell and back.” 

Yuta touches a hand to his lips and nearly winces when he pulls on the cracked skin by accident. He tastes blood in his mouth and it brings back unwanted flashes from a few nights ago. He pockets his lighter and hands Takuya his chapstick back, “Thanks but I don’t need it.”

“Maybe you should drink some real water, not just coffee or beer. And get some actual sleep too while you're at it.” 

Yuta wants to brush off the older man’s concerns but he knows he’s right. He’s driving himself to the ground trying to meet expectations Jungwoo set unnecessarily high since he’s arrived.

“I will, this weekend.” He lies through his teeth, already sure that he’ll be in the office playing catch up with his overachieving colleague. He unconsciously fiddles with a loose thread hanging from his cuff, his mind supplying images of Jungwoo with his firm body and unnerving smile.

As if on cue, the boy ducks from the side door, holding his own packet of cigarettes. He hates that he recognises that it's a Korean brand, the one that tastes like bubblegum and watermelon.

“Be careful.” He jumps, almost forgetting about Takuya as his mind zeroes in on Jungwoo’s tall figure approaching with a bounce in his steps, “People like him are trouble.”

Yuta swallows the lump in his throat and looks down at his feet. Takuya doesn’t know that Yuta too, can be just as dangerous, because he will take and take, without giving back.

—

The first time they have the opportunity to work overtime together happens after Jungwoo treats him to coffee. Nakamura-san is supposed to accompany them but he has an unexpected emergency to attend to so Yuta ends up sitting with Jungwoo to guide him through a few old files for auditing. 

Jungwoo’s persona at work is so removed from his usual childish demeanour: his posture is rigid, his focused eyes unrelenting in its scrutiny. Yuta feels a lick of fear when he starts rifling through one of Yuta’s old files and is only able to breathe easy after Jungwoo sets it aside without a word.

“Do you want to go through the 2019 files now?” He makes a move to stand up, needing some breathing space after hours brined in Jungwoo’s unnaturally stern aura.

A hand grasps his wrist, which nearly startles a yelp out of him.

“You made a mistake on that invoice.” Jungwoo whispers under his breath without tearing his eyes away from his computer screen.

“I’m sorry—what?”

“That last file, you billed the client incorrectly for an ad hoc service. You used the old contract price.” 

Yuta opens his mouth to contest his findings but his stomach feels like lead and he thinks he’s going to be sick so he opts to sit back down. Jungwoo’s hand around his wrist loosens and slides down until their fingertips are touching. He seems to wait until Yuta’s no longer suffocating from his own dilemma before continuing.

“It’s alright. Nobody has to know.”

Yuta pulls his hand away, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, “Are you insane? Matsuo-san will—“

“Matsuo-san won’t find out. Neither will the Seoul office. This,” The boy picks up the folder sandwiched between two others he approved, “never existed.” 

—

There’s something strangely mesmerising about seeing Jungwoo lashing out. It’s a reminder that beyond all his fabricated idiosyncrasies, he’s perfectly real, palpable as the frustration that burns hot around him. 

“Why not? What the heck does that mean?”

“That means move on and leave me alone.” 

Jungwoo has a scowl on his face, a refreshing sight that Yuta takes his sweet time to appreciate before trying to pull away. The younger man’s grip on his arm doesn’t budge and his mouth curves up menacingly. It’s a sight to behold, Jungwoo’s soft features contorted in a malicious grin. 

“So what? You sleep with me and then you throw me away just like that?”

“I’m too old for you.” 

“That didn’t matter back then!” Yuta winces because there’s no good way to say that his intention has been purely centred on resentment, jealousy, pettiness. Jungwoo is young and handsome and smart, and he wants Yuta, even if only physically.

Contrary to his expectations, he doesn’t feel better about himself as he watches Jungwoo’s control crumble, his broad shoulders shaking in anger? Hurt? 

“It matters to me now. I don’t do relationships, especially not with colleagues.” Lies, lies, more lies.

“I know about you and Nakamura-san so stop with the bullshit and tell me why.” Yuta’s throat feels tight and his heart grows heavy but he’s not sure if it’s guilt or, as Jungwoo’s hold falls away from his wrist, he acknowledges-

heartbreak. 

—

Jungwoo’s kiss tastes like bubblegum and watermelon.

His hands slide down Yuta’s hips, carefully pulling the hem of his shirt out of his trousers. Nimble fingers crawl up his sides where his waist tapers, tracing imaginary lines on his skin. It tickles fiercely but Yuta doesn’t get the chance to reprimand the other because Jungwoo tenses when his fingers bump into something foreign over his navel.

“You have a belly button piercing?” Jungwoo’s laugh comes out disbelieving and Yuta’s face burns from the unexpected discovery. It’s not that he’s ashamed of it, he just isn’t expecting the discovery to come so early but the younger man is too handsy for his own good.

“And what about it?” He bites back haughtily, and tries to back away when Jungwoo lifts his shirt to get a look at the titanium barbel sitting flush against his skin.

“It’s just, I never took you for someone who’s into this kind of thing.” Yuta looks away self consciously. He has scars on his ears left by the piercings he’d taken out after landing his first corporate job, he still recalls how naked he felt without them. He left the one in his navel as a reminder that once upon a time he had been a bold and confident young man who thought the world was his to conquer. Not too different from Jungwoo, only less cunning.

“I’m not anymore.” 

Jungwoo purposely fingers the jewellery and the smile he flashes him makes the hair on the back of Yuta’s neck rise, “Then why do you still have it?” He dives back for another kiss, not heeding Yuta’s elbow digging into his sternum, “And why do you still let me kiss you?”

And that’s when he decides that Jungwoo’s touch is merely a replacement for the exhilaration of having his flesh pierced by metal, his kiss a replacement for the throbbing pain and permanent scars.

—

“Why do you hate me?” The question doesn’t immediately register because Yuta’s eyes are drawn to the fading mark on Jungwoo’s neck and his mind is blanking out from the oddity of the situation he finds himself in, over and over.

“I don’t hate you.” 

Jungwoo pulls him closer by his suit jacket and they’re lucky Takuya has called in sick (or perhaps it isn’t luck if Jungwoo has carefully planned the confrontation) so they’re alone in the parking lot. His senses are filled with Jungwoo: the scent of his perfume, of the sweet smoke billowing from his cigarette, and the soft voice that teeters between honest and treacherous.

“You always lie. Like when you told me it’s okay to kiss you. Or when you said you don’t have feelings for me.” Yuta pries the hand from his jacket, it wouldn’t do if he comes back in with it all creased. He doesn’t want to arouse questions and he’s sure neither does Jungwoo.

“I don’t hate you.” He repeats but he’s not looking at the boy, instead his eyes follow the path of a stray crow flying over the parking lot, a chorus of caws echoing in its wake.

“Then tell me, why can’t you look me in the eyes?” Jungwoo grins with all teeth, “Why are you so miserable, Yuta-san?”

—

He watches Jungwoo bat his eyes at their coworker over his cup of lukewarm coffee. Sawada-san is a single woman in her mid-forties who’s devotion to her work rivals Yuta’s—She’s an easy target, a convenient pawn. Yuta wonders if he happens to fall into the same category, considering Jungwoo’s persistent grip around him.

The same scene plays every morning: Jungwoo coming in a few minutes after Yuta, making a beeline towards Sawada-san with a sweet smile and a few interesting compliments he pulls out of nowhere, and a stack of files he needs archived by noon. He’s a charmer, as much as he’s a natural leader.

“This is why the others don’t like you.” Yuta helpfully informs him during lunch. Nevermind that Yuta himself partakes in the many hushed conversations that centre around the youngest addition to their team.

“Why would I care about what they say?” The implication is clear, Jungwoo doesn’t have to be liked to fulfill the role he’s been conveniently planted in Osaka for. 

Yuta turns a wavering glare at the younger man, he has no absolution to spare for someone who treats work like an intricate game. He hates Jungwoo’s kind but there’s nothing much he can do but swallow the protests at the tip of his tongue.

“Then what is it that you care about?”

Jungwoo’s eyes take on a strange glint that leaves a blistering unease clawing at the back of his head,

“Why don’t you join me for a drink after work? I’d be more than happy to share my thoughts with you, Yuta-san.” _Just you_.

Yuta doesn’t call the boy out for the blatant disrespect, nor does he turn down the invitation. Jungwoo seems to be expecting his reaction because his eyes gleam in satisfaction. 

In reality, Yuta knows why he makes the decisions that lead up to everything that transpires that night: it’s an opening, a chance to deal the same pain back, an effort to try and turn around the game where the odds have been stacked against him from the beginning.

Jungwoo is a manipulative bastard, but at times, Yuta is not much better.

He knows it’s a mistake, a monumental one that he will pay dearly for, but it’s too late when the hotel door clicks behind Jungwoo, too late when he climbs over Yuta with the same predatory smile as he croons in fervor.

“You really are something else.” He says when he divulges Yuta of his clothes, automatically reaching for the jewellery in his navel that he knows by heart even in the shroud of darkness. 

_“Turn the lights off.”_

_“Don’t tell anyone.”_

_“I won’t.”_

—

The morning after the first night they slept together, Jungwoo crowds Yuta against the wall in the men’s toilets. His eyes are glassy like he’s had a few drinks even though Yuta’s sure that’s not the case.

“Is this okay?” The boy asks, face millimetres away from Yuta’s, and a million things flash in his mind: of Jungwoo usurping his position in the company he’s dedicated his life to, of the hollowness in his stomach that Jungwoo fills with jitters and the eagerness to close the distance that he’s unable to squash.

He nods his consent and then asks, “Why?” Why me? The right words don’t manifest between them but Jungwoo still somehow picks up on his plight because his eyes look clearer and incredibly certain when he says, and not for the first time,

“I like you. I really do.”

He scoffs and without conscious thought he lets slip the words that will hook Jungwoo in his axis, and keep him there,

“What’s there to like about someone like me?”

for a very long time.

—

His parents live only thirty minutes away by the Nagahori Tsurumi-ryokuchi line but Yuta has not been home for almost a year, for almost as long as Jungwoo has been in Osaka.

A whole year and yet his presence continues to weigh down on Yuta’s psyche and he feels deeper and deeper under water the longer he spends as a crucial pawn in the performance Jungwoo puts up on the daily. But letting them see the mess he’s become is equivalent to letting them know that he’s precariously balancing on the shaky platform of a corporate restructuring that may or may not cost him his job of eleven years at the same time providing the cheap thrill Jungwoo feeds on like an insatiable beast.

So he should be pleased, or at least relieved, when Jungwoo crouches down next to him at the parking lot with a half-finished cigarette dangling from his lips and tells him, “The headquarters gave me an option to repatriate by the end of the year.”

He doesn’t understand why the words instill an unwarranted tremor in his chest when he breathes in the sweet scent of Jungwoo’s preferred brand of cigarettes. 

“Are you going to?” 

Jungwoo takes another long drag from the stick and the embers burn bright on an overcast afternoon. 

“I haven’t really decided. I think I kinda like it here.” Yuta’s nails bite into the skin of his palm when he clenches them behind his back. From his vantage point, standing over Jungwoo’s hunched figure, he feels a rush of power. He wonders if this is how it’s like for Jungwoo every time he tangles his fingers with Yuta’s hair and pushes him down on his knees.

“Don't you miss your family?”

He huffs a breathy laugh, “What, do you want me gone?” 

Yuta soothes the flaring panic at the thought that no, he doesn’t. He hates the power Jungwoo has over him, the fear he hammers in every time he knowingly sweeps Yuta’s mistakes under the rug and then turns to him with expectations that translate to obligations. He has accumulated so much debt, that there’s no other way out but to have Jungwoo completely disappear from his life. 

This is it, the liberation he’s been chasing from the moment Jungwoo lured him in with his weaknesses and ensnared him with a cleverly contrived trap.

“Yes.” Yuta watches Jungwoo look up at him in amusement, “I want you as far away from me as possible.”

Ultimately, the trap has wedged its spikes far deeper than he’d been ready for and his stomach clenches with an unbearable pain at the thought of Jungwoo gone.

“If that’s what you feel, then sure. I’ll leave.”

—

_“That didn’t matter back then!”_

_“It matters to me now. I don’t do relationships, especially not with colleagues.”_

_“I know about you and Nakamura-san so stop with the bullshit and tell me why.”_

His skin feels cold where Jungwoo’s touch has left an imprint. “Fuck you!” he screams and pushes at Jungwoo’s chest but he hardly stumbles. He’s stronger than he looks, Yuta should know because he’s had those hands grip around his hips and those thighs straining to support his weight.

“It’s all because of you! I can’t—” He pauses to catch his breath, his mind is spiralling and the hesitation fuels Jungwoo’s ardor because he’s reaching out again and this time Yuta has nowhere to go, “—do this. I can’t fucking do this anymore Kim Jungwoo! Why won’t you leave me the fuck alone!?” The words tear themselves from his throat in a rattling scream.

Jungwoo’s eyes grow wide with shock, and under it, astonishment. The corners of his lips lift up and the rest plays in slow motion.

Yuta struggles to tear his eyes away from the spine tingling expression Jungwoo’s awe morphs into and there are fingers digging into his skin and pulling him close and this time Yuta doesn’t fight. He hooks his arms around Jungwoo’s shoulders and his fingers graze a scab on the base of his neck, an impression of Yuta’s teeth printed in blood.

“That’s more like it.” Jungwoo breathes over his lips, “Let it all out, Yuta-san, curse me all you want, hurt me too if that helps.”

There’s pressure behind Yuta’s eyes and he shuts them at the same time a sob slips past his lips. Jungwoo’s chuckling mirthlessly now and it feels like ice pebbling under his skin. It’s a vicious cycle they’ve been looped in, one without escape.

“Show me the real you.” Jungwoo tips his head up, slow and gentle, and it’s awful, how Yuta’s the one who pulls him by the collar, smashing their lips together, how his toes curl in his shoes at the quiet moan Jungwoo whispers into his mouth and how, after everything Jungwoo’s put him through, he’s still unable to stop wanting him.

—

There’s a slip of paper tucked under his mug when Yuta comes back to his desk after a meeting. The management transfer will be pushed back for another year after a few contract issues come up between suppliers and Yuta is relieved (for now), enough that he unfolds the paper without trepidation.

It’s an email printout, with Jungwoo’s name in katakana in bold letters at the top corner. The email is in Korean and conveniently enough, there’s a handwritten translation at the bottom and Yuta recognises the scraggly lines and unusual spacing.

The final line catches Yuta’s attention.

_‘-I’ve decided to stay in Osaka indefinitely’_

He sees Jungwoo’s reflection on his computer screen as the boy hovers over him expectantly.

“You really are determined to get on my bad side, aren’t you?” Jungwoo smiles. They’re alone because the rest are still stuck in the boardroom but Yuta excused himself early. He can go through the meeting minutes later, when he no longer feels like his head is barely above water.

“You’re taking this surprisingly well. I thought you’d be throwing a fit.” 

“I’m not that petty.” Jungwoo pulls a chair from a nearby desk and flops down on it next to Yuta. 

“I beg to disagree.” There’s a brief silence when Yuta sets the paper down and turns his full attention on Jungwoo. It’s a rare occurrence between them and usually, Jungwoo would have to work a little harder to get even a fraction of Yuta’s recognition. 

“So you’re not leaving.”

“I’m not.”

Yuta lets himself think of the last year, of the highs that left him breathless, of the flavour of Jungwoo’s kisses, of the desperation and the unbidden obsession. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Jungwoo adds when Yuta remains still, eyes blank. His hand finds Yuta’s under the desk, threading their fingers together until there’s not a sliver of space between them. The feeling is frustratingly new, but welcome.

“I guess not.” 

—

“Nakamoto-san, you’ve been looking at your phone all night.” Sawada-san teases when he fishes his phone from his pocket for the fourth time in a row.

He does his best to keep his brows from knitting and quickly deletes the notifications before anyone can catch a glimpse of it. Takuya is looking at him like he can see through Yuta’s facade so he dutifully keeps his gaze on the empty beer bottles on the table and tries to keep his fingers from twitching.

“Do you finally have a girlfriend?” 

“I-no, there's none, Sawada-san.” She isn't completely off the mark. Someone makes a remark about the hint of sweet perfume that’s perpetually stuck on Yuta’s suit. No one seems to have made the connection yet.

“I just need to use the toilet for a bit.” He says to excuse himself. Their manager and a few other guys from the finance department are engaged in a serious discussion over at the next table. Yuta goes around them and successfully evades notice. 

He takes his phone out again only when he’s locked in a claustrophobic stall that stinks of urine and drunk middle-aged men. 

_‘It’s 10 where are you’_

_‘Are you still with the team’_

_‘Yuta, answer’_

_‘Yuta’_

_‘Yuta’_

_‘Yuta’_

Jungwoo isn’t known for his patience. He types out a quick response and flushes the toilet, in case any of the guys followed him there. He fixes his hair in front of the mirror and plasters a look of mild distress on his face. He has to look convincing if he wants to slip out without problem, but he doesn’t worry too much about it, after all, he learned from the best.

_‘Unizo hotel Umeda, 11:30’_

**Author's Note:**

> my first foray into yuwoo! i enjoyed writing this although i'm sure it got uncomfortable a lot of times for the readers. i promise to write a happier yuwoo next time and thank you to those who decided to go ahead and read.
> 
> feedbacks are welcome :)


End file.
